


Spade Stuffing

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Inflation, Kink, Kismesis, M/M, Nosebleed, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave sat in silent annoyance, and before you could begin to sneak toward his back you made out the sound of his stomach growling. That’d explain his attitude that seemed a bit sourer than usual. That’d explain the sinister thought that just occurred to you, so when you slid across the floor from beneath the table, you’d have a plan set in motion already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spade Stuffing

Oh, Gamzee, baby, what have you up and done?

Went and flawlessly executed the mad merciless murder on two of your friends, all when that sopor up and wasn’t around to keep you in check. You scraped at the empty recuperacoon with nails sharp enough to tear a hole in it. For a while you’d been full of sadness. Just a bleak frown down at the bottom. The look of disapproval grew as your eyes widened. Realization began to set in. Maybe somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d always known this about yourself. The fear lasted as long as the comedown would allow before being replaced by so much, motherfucking, anger.

And now look what you’ve found, in a corner of the room, dark and abandoned. Perhaps a day or two old, two slime green pies, uncovered and untouched. How could you have missed seeing those wicked motherfuckers? Had you really forgotten they were there? You gulped silently with a groan, though your expression remained impassive. It crosses your mind for a second or two that maybe your rampage could’ve been avoided.

You soon realize that you don’t care and with a nose wrinkled up in disgust, you turn away from it. You know what that shit did to you. There’s no way in hell you’re ever touching it again.

Jarring footsteps shake you from your little self-loathy inner monologuing and immediately your body language mimics some creature, not troll nor human in nature, the way that your back lifts up, your eyes crack open toward the vibrations in the floor and your digits curl up. Like some startled monster, you crawl beneath a table just in time.

The door swings open and in strolls— THIS MOTHERFUCKER.

Always thinking he’s the cat’s meow and the dog in you is ready to pounce. Giving soft involuntary growls is all that you can do to prevent from lurching from your hiding place. The way his body moves is a lot less fluid when alone. Alone is what you assume of him when he shuts the door behind him and pulls down that dumb cape. Well, hand him a screwdriver and call him captain toolbox. Dave motherfucking Strider just keeps up this front, doesn’t he?

That is now a bonafied fact in your mind. Now the only other question is what he’s doing in here all by himself. There is virtually nothing of interest in this room. The only reason you’re in here is because there ain’t shit else to do on this meteor but wander.

You watch Dave squat down in front of the corner, and you’re glaring spades harder than you’ve ever dared. How did he know that there was sopor here? And why did his ass look so positively fucking perfect in those tight trousers? Gamzee, you knew you were waxing black by the way that you wanted to strangle him, grope him, and get off on the hateful look behind those shades. Fuck, you got your flushed feels on pretty hard for Tavbro but it was nothing like the passion you felt when that devil was in the room.

Moments away from springing out of your cage, Dave glances over his shoulder like the casual ‘coolkid’ he is and says, “Move your ass, chucklefuck. We got a clown to fix.”

Your pupils contracted, and you swallowed saliva hard like a rock down your protein chute. He knows that you’re here? More than that, he’s beckoning to you as if he’s going to fix you. The mere thought that you need fixing from this piece of shit is insulting. A blueblood refused to kneel and a blueblood was choked till blue in the motherfucking face, and here the candy red human Hawaiian punch blooded boy was going to order him around?

“Dude, I know that you’re over there. Let’s just get this over with.”

No sense in acting as if you’re not there, or trying to get your mad sneak on. Instead you just ask, because maddening inquiries all you’ve remembered how to do. The rest of your think pan is muddled with suffocating caliginous inclinations.

“How the motherfuck did you know all at them bein’ there?”

There was a pause, likely where laughter in a sitcom would be placed before Dave responds with the deadpan punchline.

“I’m the one who put them there.”

“How?!”

Dave flipped his palms up with, his expression unreadable from the juggalo behind him.

“I’m a god now, dude. I got this time business on lock. How hard do you think it was to sacrifice an alternate Dave to snag some of your pies from the past and move them here?”

Pause.

“Now let’s do this before the walking bloodsucking Ikea lamp brandishes her chainsaw again.”

“No,” you refuse. Despite the good intentions, Dave just doesn’t fucking get it. Yeah, getting back on sopor’ll just calm you right the fuck down. It’ll push you right back down into that rut you just got done crawling out of. You didn’t want to do that again. Not again.

Dave sat in silent annoyance, and before you could begin to sneak toward his back you made out the sound of his stomach growling. That’d explain his attitude that seemed a bit sourer than usual. That’d explain the sinister thought that just occurred to you, so when you slid across the floor from beneath the table, you’d have a plan set in motion already.

Snatching the back of his cape, earning a startled yelp, you pulled Dave to the ground. Strange. Was he so naive to think that you wouldn’t get violent on him just due to your pacification? Karkat wasn’t around. What a foolish thought indeed. No, Dave had a pie tin in the palm of his hand, and once he’d been slammed backward, something that although he was anticipating he couldn’t pinpoint accurately enough to avoid surprise, he smashed it in your face.

You cringed and before even wiping your face clean of the substance, you threw a blind fist toward the offender, catching him in the nose. Shit, that was stronger than Dave was expecting. His shades nearly flew off his face and three steady lines of red ran down his face, accompanied by an abrupt screech; a boyish one.

Dave’s hands instinctively rose to his face. You licked your lips and got a tongue full of that poisonous pastry. Fakey fake bullshit taste. You turned your head to the side with a glob of spit littering the wall, turning your eyes back to the bleeding mess. Green and red really was a delicious color combination you figure. Rubbing your fingers against your face and pulling off sopor, your free hand reaches for whatever digits of his you can manage to get a grip on and yank them away from his face.

“You motherfuckin’ eat it,” you demand as you shove your hand into his mouth.

With your hand cupped over Dave’s teeth, he’s got no choice but to swallow what’s given to him. Futile struggles fade and out of impulse, globs of sopor slide down bittersweet. And suddenly Dave’s heart rate quickens. What the fuck are you feeding him? His whole body feels like it’s on fire, and everything around him is breathing. The walls, the ceiling— he’s got to be hallucinating.

On the outside, all you see is Dave’s head begin to loll back and forth. Your clumsy hand dips into the pie tin once more, this time getting a dripping handful and forcing it into Dave’s mouth. At first his teeth are in the way before the substance slips between them and the feeling of acid against the back of his throat prompts a cough; the opening of his mouth, and then it all slides in.

Cheeks full of alien bed slime are red, and Dave can taste bits of his own metallic blood mingling with the sopor. He’s still coherent, as much as he can be, and if it wasn’t for those sunglasses he’d be giving you a pleading gaze. You push down against his lips with your palm— the grin stretching across your face is sharp enough to puncture diamond.

“Swallow it all, my blasphemous spade,” you chortle with malice.

For a second, Dave remains defiant and tries spitting it back into your hand. Those claws of yours that you’re not afraid of using, dig straight into his side and with the spurt of blood comes the swallow. Too much at once and Dave begins cringes with difficulty. He pants into your hand. He can feel it slide down his esophagus. It’s a thick pressure that loosens with the passing seconds. The more he takes in, the harder it is to stay awake.

Colors coat the room and your voice sounds like running paint to him. You watch as his sweaty pale palms snatch your shirt and the high takes hold of him. But you’re not done. “You like them motherfuckin’ miracles, my brother?” you ask as you lean down. Dave’s glasses are in the way. A final testament to how far gone the boy is, you are easily able to lift them off his face and damn look at those rubies. You’re excited by the way they’re half-lidded and bright. His irises look so small with pupils like that— dilated and damp.

Dave’s eyes are watering and the excess of blood and sopor on his lips proves too much of a temptation. You mash your lips into his, biting and gnashing with your razors. He softly groans in return, yours to use as you please. An experienced indigo tongue scrapes the roof of Strider’s mouth. You examine every inch of his mouth before pulling back with a sigh. Such a lovely shade of red, and now his teeth are stained in it. Dave puffs as he tries to catch his breath.

“I wanna fill you the motherfuck up,” you groan.

Scooping up what’s left in the pie tin, you insert your fingers back into Dave’s mouth, feeling the way that his tongue laps at your digits, trying to get off every last bit of it. “You want it too,” you tease. By the time you’re done, Dave is so full of sopor, he’s nigh unresponsive. Not asleep but not awake. He just lies with a dazed out expression and hiccups. His shirt feels a bit tighter around his belly, but there’s still one more pie left.

You trace an outline around Dave’s lips with your tongue before diving in again. His tongue isn’t so eager to dance with yours. He’s completely and utterly relaxed. Even nipping at his tongue proves futile. You apologetically suck on it, giving a sly stare at those inoperative red eyes.

Deciding that you’ll save the other pie for later, you push it aside and just stare at Dave.

Dave, that motherfucker reduced in front of you. It felt so good. You could use him right now if he wanted.

You fondly regard the crotch of Dave’s pants and curiosity begs you to peek inside. But no, it’s not as exciting without the fight. That’s the point of a proper kismesis. Now that Dave was unable to cooperate, it wasn’t the same. This was a romance, after all.

Ha, romance.

Your knees have been planted on either side of him this whole event. You finally lower to straddle his lap and your head cranes forward to rest on his body. Plump, full, and warm, with a hideous human heartbeat.

You could get used to this.


End file.
